Undercover
by TotalFanGirl221B
Summary: Sherlock's been undercover for about 4 months and has finally returned home. However, things aren't quite the same. Can he adjust back to the life he once lived? IMPORTANT NOTICE: LEAVE REVIEWS
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock tossed and turned in torment as he slept. Their screams for help and in terror ran around in his mind over and over. He mumbled in his sleep, begging the voices to stop. They wouldn't listen. He panted and sweated as he moved around in his bed. He rustled his sheets as his mumbling became louder, and he sprung up. Suddenly, opening his eyes widely, he looked around his surroundings, still breathing heavily. He slowly began to breathe normally as he looked around and realised he was in his flat. Safe. He blinked for a moment in relief and sighed. He then placed his head in his hands and rubbed his face. Tears began to stream from his eyes as he sat in bed.

The next morning, John came down from his bedroom and knocked on the door to the living room while entering. He peered round the door to see Sherlock sat at the desk looking at some notes. "Are they for the case Lestrade called about yesterday?" Sherlock looked up and nodded. John could already sense something was wrong; his friend was pale, bags under his eyes, he looked like he was about to drop dead or something. "Are you alright?" he asked, knowing he probably wouldn't get the truth.

"Yeah..." Sherlock nodded and tried to smile as he looked back down at the case, trying to avoid eye contact.

"Alright then," John knew he wasn't going to get the truth, and he wasn't going to try and push for it either. "Do you want a cup of tea?"

"Uh, no thanks." Sherlock grabbed all of the notes from the table and stood up quickly. Too quickly. He wobbled for a moment, trying to sort out his balance. Luckily, John was looking the other way, he was in the kitchen, so before he had a chance to see, Sherlock soon balanced himself by holding himself up using the table. He sighed and closed his eyes in despair, but then shook his head and stood up slowly. He exhaled deeply out of his nose, and then walked to the door to grab his coat. "We'd best go; Lestrade wants to see us in half an hour." John quickly peeked round from the kitchen door and realised what was going on, so he too grabbed his coat and they both hurried out.

In the car there wasn't much conversation. Sherlock was too tired for conversation, but he passed it off as if he wasn't interested in whatever John brought up. "Mary and Irene will be back soon," John smiled to Sherlock. Sherlock politely smiled back, but tried to show he didn't care by turning to look out of the window. "We should all go for dinner when she's back or something?" once again, Sherlock smiled and nodded but then turned away. John soon got the message and found it a little insulting, so neither of them spoke the rest of the way.

They reached Scotland Yard. Lestrade was waiting impatiently for them outside, as they were unusually late. John seemed confused as he walked over, thinking they had got there right on time. Sherlock stumbled out of the taxi soon after John, concentrating more on walking than whether they were late or not. "Oh, so you finally show up!" Lestrade shouted as the two men came closer.

"What? We're right on time." John said as he looked to his watch and finally stood in front of Lestrade.

"What are you talking about? You should have been here half an hour ago." they both turned to Sherlock who had realised he'd made a mistake. A stupid mistake.

"Oh sorry, I, uh... I guess I just got caught up in the notes." Sherlock quickly made an excuse which Lestrade bought, but John, however, didn't.

Lestrade just sighed and then took them inside. They both sat down in his office and they began to discuss the case. Sherlock tried to listen, but he had much bigger things on his mind at that point in time. All of those people in his head. All of their memories. Why did he have to see it all? Why did he ever go? Lestrade could see he wasn't concentrating, so he paused for a moment. "Is everything alright, Sherlock?" Sherlock realised what was going on as he stopped daydreaming. He blinked in shock and looked puzzled at Lestrade. "Sherlock?"

"Could I just go to the toilet?" he spoke as he lifted from his chair, not even waiting for a response because he was going to go anyway. Lestrade just nodded and Sherlock wandered out of the room. Lestrade and John seemed speechless; why wasn't Sherlock interested in the case? This was what he lived for.

Sherlock wandered out of the room, and out of the building. He stumbled to the side and closed his eyes gently. He placed his head on the building wall and slid down it. His knees were placed near his chest, and his arms around them. He inhaled and exhaled slowly and calmly as he tried to relax himself. "Come on." he mumbled. "It's over." he repeated to himself again and again just to get it into his head, to get rid of the other thoughts in there. He placed his hands over his faced and rubbed it, and then slowly slid them so they fell into prayer position in front of his face. He trembled slightly as he tried everything to get rid of the memories. Of the traumatic events he had witnessed.

"What's taking him so long?" Lestrade asked John as he looked to his watch. "He's been gone about fifteen minutes now, surely he should be back." John nodded. Then, they both decided to go and see whether he was alright; they both knew he wasn't himself. So, they went to the bathroom to find it empty; Sherlock had gone. They both looked to each other, and then checked the building. Then they decided they had better check outside, maybe he was having a cigarette.

He was there. Sat in the same position as before against the wall. Lestrade and John just stared at him for a moment and wondered what he was doing and why. And then, they tried to get his attention. "Sherlock? Sherlock, what's going on?" John said as he slowly knelt down beside Sherlock and reached his hand out to place on his friend's shoulder.

"Don't!" Sherlock shouted as he shrugged John's hand away. "Don't touch me!" he shouted as he opened his eyes.

"Sherlock, it's John. John Watson, your friend." he seemed shocked at what had just happened, as did Lestrade, but he tried to get Sherlock's attention once more. "Sherlock, come on, let's go inside."

he reached his hand out once again. Sherlock stopped crying and screaming as he realised who was in front of him; who he was shrugging away. He was shocked that he'd screamed at John. He removed his hands from his face and let John help him up. Both of them seemed shocked, as did Lestrade. "Are you alright? Can you stand?" John said as he lifted his friend up. Sherlock shook his head. He didn't know. He didn't understand, none of them did. He was so scared and shocked.

"Are you alright, Sherlock?" Lestrade seemed concerned as he helped John lift him up.

"I... I don't..."

They both lifted him up and took him to Lestrade's car. They could feel him trembling and shaking from fear as they placed him in. "Are you sure you can give us a lift?" John asked as he shut the door for Sherlock.

"Of course," Lestrade smiled. "You can't exactly get a taxi with him in this state, can you? Whatever state this is..." Lestrade and John hopped into the front of the car. John kept looking in the mirror to check on Sherlock as they made their way home, but every time he looked Sherlock seemed to be totally oblivious to the things around him.

"He didn't look too well when he came in," Lestrade began to speak, knowing Sherlock was in a completely different world right now to even realise they were talking about him.

"Yeah, he seemed ill when I came down this morning." John sighed, thinking he should have known Sherlock was too ill for work. "He's been strange ever since he came back from that undercover thing."

"I noticed." Lestrade nodded. "What happened there?"

"I haven't a clue." John shook his head. "Whenever I mention it or ask what it was like, he quickly changes the subject. I knew something was wrong, but I guess I'd thought he'd get over it; he's Sherlock Holmes. I mean, what could have possibly happened to put him in such a state?" Lestrade shook his head.

"Whatever it is, it must have been awful to put _him_ this way."


	2. Chapter 2

John took Sherlock straight to bed when they entered the flat, and then he went to read in the living room. He would have gone to his bedroom, but he didn't want to leave Sherlock on his own downstairs at the moment, not with him being like this. He didn't have a clue how to handle any of it; he'd never seen Sherlock in such a state. He knew it must be to do with those four months away, obviously, but Sherlock wouldn't say what had happened there. John just had to wait and hope his friend would soon just confess and tell him everything. That's if he got the answer at all.

Soon, Sherlock wandered into the living room, dazed. He had tried to get to sleep, but the nightmares kept creeping back. He wished they would stop; he couldn't cope. John noticed him walking in and went into the kitchen to make him a tea. "How are you feeling?" John shouted from the kitchen as Sherlock lay himself down on the sofa, staring up at the ceiling.

"Fine." he mumbled. Of course he didn't tell John the truth. That he felt absolutely dreadful. That every moment he was awake he could still see their faces and every time he tried to sleep he could hear their screams. That he knew it was over, yet he couldn't forget because it was horrifying that it just stuck in his mind.

"Good, good." John wandered in, placing Sherlock's tea on the coffee table in front of the sofa, and then sitting himself down in his old armchair. They both sat in silence for a few minutes, John sipped his tea quietly, and Sherlock didn't even glance at his. Suddenly, John coughed and then began to speak. "What... what happened?" Sherlock turned his head. "What happened to you at Scotland Yard?" Sherlock shook his head.

"I just needed some air." he spoke quietly.

"Yeah, but then when I tried to help you up, you screamed at me." Sherlock looked back up at the ceiling and failed to reply to John. He wasn't going to tell him why. He wasn't going to tell him what he had seen. He was just going to deal with it; he had to. John sighed. He hated the fact that Sherlock felt he could cope alone when clearly he couldn't. Sherlock still thought he was alone, that nobody cares, which frustrated John because _he _cared.

"Sherlock," John spoke after a while. "Are you ever going to tell me what happened when you left? What happened there?" Sherlock ignored him. "Come on, Sherlock. What happened? I want to help." Sherlock sighed and turned to his friend. John looked so happy, and friendly, and Sherlock wanted to say. He wanted to tell him. He just couldn't though. He felt he wouldn't understand, which was probably ridiculous as he had been in the army and had suffered a hell of a lot too. Sherlock just wanted to deal with this alone. He opened his mouth to speak, like he was going to tell John, but then sighed.

"I just..." he closed his eyes and reopened them once more slowly. "I just stayed there too long."

"What?"

"I should have come home earlier." Sherlock knew this was a terrible excuse, but it seemed as if John had bought it because he simply nodded his head and began to speak about something else. However, John knew it wasn't true, he just knew he wasn't going to get the real answer from Sherlock; he had to find someone else who may know.

"Irene and Mary are coming home soon," John smiled. "They should be home actually in an hour or so." Sherlock just nodded. "Maybe we should have a weekend away?" John joked, to which Sherlock just smiled a little. John sighed, thinking he'd get more of a reaction. "I guess not, after that terrible stag night we had, I'm not sure it would be the best idea." John smiled again, hoping for at least a laugh of some sorts, but there was nothing. "Anyway, have you thought any more about that case?"

"A little," John smiled to finally get a reply. "But I don't think it's really worth my time.". And then it was back to complete silence. "I'd better go to the shops, anyway." John sighed as he stared at Sherlock for a moment wondering what had happened. What had been so traumatic. It was destroying Sherlock and killing John to see it happening. He placed his hands on his knees pushing himself up from the armchair. "If Mary comes before I come back just tell her I've gone to the shops." he smiled as he left. Sherlock sighed deeply as John left the room.


	3. Chapter 3

John got home surprisingly quickly, mainly because he was worried about what Sherlock was doing on his own. He struggled to grab his keys from his pocket as he had several shopping bags in his hand. Then, he opened the door and slowly made his way up the stairs. He slowly took a step at a time, taking deep breaths because of the weight. "I'm fine, don't worry." He shouted as he was near to the top of what felt like a mountain he had climbed. Then, he opened the door and went in. Sherlock was in the same position as before, except that he had his hands in prayer position in front of his face, and his eyes were closed. John sighed as he went to put the shopping bags in the kitchen. "Have you actually done anything since I've been out?" John shouted into the living room as he unpacked the food. Sherlock opened his eyes as he heard his friend's voice. He moved his hands and then sat himself up at the edge of the sofa. "Well, have you?" John peered around the kitchen door.

"I had a quick look at some case notes." Sherlock spoke softly, and tried to pretend everything was normal, which was what he wanted. He wanted everything to be back to the way they were; as if he'd never left.

"Oh," John said with quite surprise. "Find anything?"

"Not yet." Sherlock shook his head and sighed. He scratched his head as John came in and sat himself down.

"How are you feeling?" John asked after a bit of silence, knowing Sherlock had been avoiding this conversation. He felt bad for asking after Sherlock had just been trying to act normal, but John knew he was just trying to run away from what was going on in his mind, which wasn't going to solve anything as he'd have to face it at some point.

"I'm fine," Sherlock smiled falsely to his friend.

"Come on, Sherlock. How are you actually feeling?" John stared at his friend who looked straight back. He knew John wasn't going to let it go. His face grew angry as he didn't know what to do; tell John or just pretend it never happened. Saying it was confessing it, and therefore it happened. If it stayed in his head, it only happened there and therefore it could just be buried soon and wouldn't be spread to anyone else, meaning it would be gone quickly.

"I don't... I don't know." he sighed. "I feel... I want to feel fine; I want to feel like I used to, I just... I don't know how."

"You need to speak to someone, Sherlock. You need to tell them what's going on." Sherlock threw his hands in the air.

"No! No, I can't do that! Don't you see? If everyone knows then I'm admitting it happened; I will know it definitely happened. If I know then I can get rid of it, I can just bury it."

"But you're not burying it! It's taking you over! You're not sleeping, eating, you're not even doing cases as often as you used to!" John shouted. Sherlock was about to respond, but Irene and Mary suddenly came bursting in with smiles on their faces.

"Hello," Mary smiled. John and Sherlock smiled to them, pretending nothing had just happened.

"How was it?" John went over to Mary, kissing her gently.

"It was great, we must do it again." she smiled to Irene who nodded back to her.

Mary and Irene had got themselves settled down in the flat and John had made them drinks. Irene wandered into the kitchen whilst John was making them to see how he's been. "I've been good, yeah, thanks." he smiled. She smiled back, but then lowered her head a little. "What's wrong?" she looked back up to him.

"Has Sherlock been alright?" John could hear in her voice she was worried, meaning she knew something had been wrong before she left.

"How do you mean?"

"Well, I don't know if you noticed, but ever since he came back he's been acting a bit... odd."

"As oppose to what he's normally like?" John smiled jokingly, but he could see Irene wasn't really in the mood for those jokes at that particular moment. "I had noticed, and he's been... he's not been himself."

"What's happened?"

"He had this sort of, um, panic attack at Scotland Yard." Irene gasped a little. "And then, when I tried to help him, he screamed at me not to. Like he was in some sort of danger."

"He's been like that with me a little recently." they both sighed. "Has he told you anything?" John shook his head.

"What makes you think he would?"

"Well, you're his best friend. If he was going to tell anyone it would be you."

"Wait," John remembered quickly. "He did say that he felt... not normal? Something like that. He said he wants to feel fine and how he used to, but he can't."

"Did he say why?"

"No," John shook his head. "Just that he can't say why because then it will mean it really did happen."

"What did?" John shrugged his shoulders. "I wish he would just speak to somebody." Irene sighed. John could see she was terribly worried, so he hugged her kindly and comforted her.

"How about we all go to dinner?" John said randomly while sat in the living room. Mary and Irene looked up and nodded slightly, but Sherlock just seemed to hate the idea. That didn't actually surprise anybody though.

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	4. Chapter 4

They all sat themselves down; John beside Mary and Sherlock beside Irene. They took a look at the menu which was placed neatly in front of them and they chose what to eat. A waiter came over quite quickly to see what drinks they would like to begin with. Normally everybody except Sherlock would chose something alcoholic, but Sherlock also did this time. It made Irene and John worry even more. However, Sherlock believed it would help him to relax that evening; he'd forget about everything. All the memories were making there way back into his mind, and he wanted to just get rid of them. Just for one night. At least just a night.

Everybody watched as Sherlock drank glass after glass without a care in the world. Irene had tried to persuade him that it was enough, but he refused and drank more. The evening was not how they had all seen it before they went. "I think we'd better get Sherlock home." John sighed as he stood up out of his chair. Irene and Mary just agreed and they got up. John had to practically carry Sherlock out of the restaurant and pull him out.

"Maybe you should stay at ours tonight?" Mary suggested to Irene as she looked at the state of Sherlock. John also agreed, and Irene finally nodded her head. "How about we get a taxi and you take Sherlock to the flat in the car?"

"No, no, you take the car."

"Are you sure you'll get a taxi?" John sighed and nodded. Mary just listened to him and then took Irene to her house in the car.

John and Sherlock sat in the taxi on the way to the flat. John stared out the window while his friend lay half asleep on the other seat. "Stop it... stop please." Sherlock mumbled quietly. John could hear him, and looked to him. He continued to mumble more or less the same thing, which puzzled John even more. He needed answers soon because he was still in the dark and confused about what had happened to Sherlock to make him so bad.

He managed to carry Sherlock to bed and throw him in. He covered him with the blanket, and then left. He sat in the living room and turned the TV on for a bit, scanning through the channels looking for something remotely interesting to watch as he would be there all night. He considered falling asleep, but he knew Sherlock could wake up at any moment, so he wanted to be there for him when he did.

Five in the morning. A scream from Sherlock's bedroom woke John up. He rushed into Sherlock's bedroom to find him sat up with his head buried in his hands. He went over and attempted to place his hand on his friends shoulder, but he remembered to be careful and comforting. "Sherlock? Sherlock, it's John, it's me; your friend." he managed to place his hand around him without Sherlock screaming. He could feel Sherlock shaking ferociously and heard him crying and taking deep breaths in and out to calm himself. "Everything's alright, Sherlock. I'm here to help. You're fine; you're alright." still Sherlock shook and cried, but John sat beside him comforting him the whole time.

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	5. Chapter 5

Irene came around the next morning to find Sherlock sat at his desk revising some case notes and John sat reading a newspaper. She knew something was suspicious right from the start. "Hi," she smiled as she walked in. She didn't bother to ask what was wrong and why they were acting so normal because she may not like the answer, and that's if she even got one. "Thanks for staying last night, John." she smiled to him as he got up and hugged her.

"It's fine," he nodded. Then, Sherlock looked up and smiled to Irene. She could see right through it. She knew he was _trying_ to be normal. "But I think I'm going to go now, if that's alright?" John smiled and Irene nodded to him. As Sherlock looked back down to his notes, John indicated to the door so that Irene would step outside with him for a moment. She seemed worried and new automatically he would tell her what had happened last night after he brought Sherlock home. So, they both left the room without Sherlock noticing.

"What is it?" Irene turned to John as she quietly shut the door behind them.

"Has Sherlock been having nightmares or something since he got back?" Irene sighed. He could tell that that was a yes when she hung her head down. He placed his hand on her arm comfortingly. "I'm sure he'll get over it soon." she looked up to him.

"But what is it he needs to get over? I don't understand; he won't tell me anything. That's why I went away, I thought maybe he should be given the space. And I needed some because I felt Sherlock was going... crazy with me or something. I thought maybe he'd tell you something." John shook his head.

"He won't say anything to me, either." they both stood silent and in despair for a moment, wondering what they they could do.

"What are we supposed to do? I keep telling myself he's going to get over this, but it's hard to believe when he's still having nightmares! And you told me what happened at Scotland Yard. If anything, he's just getting worse." John could see Irene was distressed by this, so he hugged her and made sure she was alright.

"It's fine, it will get better. This is Sherlock Holmes we're talking about; he's indestructible apparently." Irene smiled a littler, holding back tears. John let her go and looked her straight in the eyes. "It'll be fine, honestly. And if anything goes wrong you know where I am." he smiled warmly, and Irene felt she could believe and trust him. So, she nodded her head and swallowed hard and then let him go.

"So, how have you been?" Irene said as she made herself a cup of coffee. Normally Sherlock would have offered, but he had a migraine and was just trying to keep himself to himself.

"Fine." he didn't bother to elaborate. Irene sighed and went to the living room. She placed her drink on the coffee table and walked slowly to Sherlock; she placed her hands on his shoulders and began to massage him gently. "Irene," he sighed as he put his head in his hands.

"Sherlock, you're incredibly tense at the moment. Come on, lighten up." she thought this may persuade him to talk to her and let her continue, like it always normally had, but this time he said no. He shrugged her off of him and sighed.

"Please, I don't want you to." he spoke quietly as he got on with his work. Irene huffed a little and sat herself down, not even bothering to attempt to try again. What was the point? She thought.

Later on, Irene began to make some dinner. "Do you want anything?" she asked Sherlock, already knowing his answer. He shook his head, which she had anticipated, and so she went to him once again.

"Sherlock!" she shouted. That got his attention. He turned quickly to her in shock as she spoke. "Sherlock, this isn't healthy! You won't eat, you won't sleep, you won't even tell me what the hell happened to make you like this! Yes, I grant you the fact that you barely ate or slept before, but now... but now it's getting ridiculous." she spoke, breaking down near to the end. Sherlock's eyes drifted away from hers as he realised he had hurt her. He realised what had happened wasn't just affecting him, but other people. Irene continued to stare at him to wait for an answer, but he was just so upset and shocked by everything. He didn't know how to react. He looked back shortly, and then opened his mouth. Irene believed she was about to get a full explanation. However, Sherlock closed it again only a few seconds after and sighed. "Sherlock..."

"It's nothing... nothing." he shook his head. "I'll just have fish or something." he pretended to smile. Irene felt horrible for shouting at him, but she had to for his own sake. She just walked back into the kitchen when he didn't tell her anything and made him a small fish.

Of course, Sherlock didn't eat the fish. She took it to him and he began to play around with it to pretend like he was going to eat it, but then he just ignored it as soon as Irene went to get herself something to eat. When she noticed, he stood up and put his coat on. "Where are you going? Aren't you going to eat that?" she asked as she pointed with her head to the fish lying slanted on the plate.

"Lestrade called, there's a case." Sherlock smiled and rushed out. Irene sighed as he slammed the door behind himself and then cleared up his plate angrily. She then sat herself down waiting anxiously until he returned home.

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	6. Chapter 6

Irene sat up waiting for hours. She eventually fell asleep in the armchair she was sat on when her phone suddenly began to ring. She quickly opened her eyes as she realised she had to be awake. Then, she picked up her phone from the side of her and checked the time. Three in the morning. Then, she looked to see who was calling her and she sighed with relief when she found it was Sherlock. "Sherlock, what are you doing? I've been worried about you."

"Irene, it's John." the voice on the phone spoke.

"What?" Irene seemed confused.

"I found Sherlock; he's in a right state."

"What do you mean found him? He said he was on a case, I assumed you'd be with him."

"What? We haven't been on a case. I've been at home with Mary." Irene was speechless as she realised Sherlock had lied to her. "No, no, he called me earlier to tell me where he was."

"Why did he call you?"

"He said he didn't want you to know; he didn't want you to see him like this. He asked me not to say anything, but I couldn't keep you in the dark. He is in an awful state."

"Why didn't he want me to know?" Irene was smart; she already knew the answer, but she was in shock and she was confused, she had to hear it.

"Because he wants everything to be normal; he doesn't want you to see him distraught." she sighed. "I'm bringing him home now." Irene just nodded and hung up the phone. She cried a little, realising he had changed so much. Too much. She was beginning to feel there was no way out of this any more; something had happened when he had been away. Something terrible. _Horrific_. It must have been if it had done this to Sherlock Holmes. She buried her head in her hands for a moment as she silently cried.

John brought Sherlock in carefully and quietly, trying not to alarm him. He sat him down on the sofa where Irene suggested, and then went into the kitchen with her. "Where did you find him?"

"Kew Gardens." John sighed and hung his head low. Irene realised what he was doing there.

"Was it...?" John looked up, paused, and then gradually nodded. "But why? Why did he do it?"

"I don't know... Whatever the reason, it must be pretty huge if it's made him go back to... drugs."

"So is he... How is he?"

"He's not out of it, but he's not in a very fit condition at the moment. I mean, he's better than he was. On the phone he sounded awful."

"When did he call you?"

"Around two," John told her everything. "He told me he needed me, he needed help. So obviously I got there and found him sat alone with his back against a wall and his legs along the floor. When I got to him I could see he had had something; he was almost blank. Then, when I went to help him up he..."

"He pushed you away." John nodded. Irene knew exactly how Sherlock had been recently with people approaching him. She knew how he'd shout.

"Then I managed to persuade him I was there to help him, and I sat beside him. I told him I was going to call you, to tell you that I'd found him, and that's when he asked me not to. But he wasn't in a fit state to argue with me, so that's when I rang."

"Thank you, John." Irene smiled gratefully. "And I'm so sorry that this has happened. Would you like something to drink before you go?"

"I'll stay for a cup of tea." he smiled. Irene nodded and then began to make herself and John a drink.

They both sat in the living room where Sherlock lay on the sofa. They had tried to make contact with him, but he wasn't having it; he just ignored them. "I'd better take him to bed." Irene sighed. "He's going to fall asleep soon, he's so tired."

"I can help you if you want?"

"If you wouldn't mind, that would be great." she smiled as they both got up and lifted Sherlock from the sofa. At first they thought he would put up a fight because they were holding him, but he was hardly with it really. He was tired and drugged up. So, he didn't really realise what was going on. They took him to his bedroom and placed him in, covering him gently with the covers.

"Thank you for helping, John." Irene said as she walked him to the door.

"It's no problem, honestly." John nodded and smiled as he left. Irene waved and then shut the door behind him. However, as soon as she had shut the door her smile fell. She turned and leant herself on the door. Her body slid down and she sighed. She had no idea what she was going to do or how she was going to help Sherlock on her own. She didn't even have a clue on why he was being like this, so how could she solve the problem without knowing what it is. Seeing Sherlock like that killed her. She had never seen him in such a way; she had never seen him give up so fast. He had turned back to drugs so quickly that it made her wonder if he could ever get better. If he could ever move past whatever had happened.

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	7. Chapter 7

The next morning Sherlock woke up quite late. He had managed to sleep quite well that night since he returned home, and so had Irene. Sherlock turned as he woke to see that Irene wasn't beside him in the bed, so he shot up and looked around. He jumped out of bed and left his bedroom to seek her out. "Irene?" he shouted. Then, he heard footsteps coming from the top floor and then the door opened. Irene wandered in and yawned.

"What is it? What happened, are you alright?" she was panting like she had run down the stairs because she was frightened if something had happened. Then she noticed Sherlock was just stood normally, so she smiled with relief.

"Where... where were you?" he seemed confused.

"Oh, I went to sleep in the spare bedroom."

"What? Why?"

"Don't you remember?" she could tell by the puzzled expression on his face that he did not. "Well, uh, when I went in... you began shouting. I tried to calm you down, but I think you were having a nightmare or something." she sighed. "And then I thought it would be best if I went to sleep in the spare room." she said the last part very quickly like she was ashamed and upset that it happened. Sherlock then noticed a mark on her arm and stared at it. Irene noticed him looking, so she covered it quickly, but it was too late.

"What is that?" he asked, walking closer. Irene shook her head, so he got closer and uncovered it. He examined it for a moment and continued to ask. "How did you get it?" her arm was quite red, not badly injured, but noticeable. "Irene?"

"Sherlock..." she looked to him, staring into his eyes. She knew he hadn't meant to. Then, she watched as the realisation hit him. As he began to remember.

"It was..." he back away slowly, dropping her arm. "It was me... Wasn't it?" Irene sighed, but then approached him carefully.

"Sherlock, you didn't mean to. I know you didn't mean to. You were tired and in a terrible state, you weren't yourself."

"Irene, I... I'm so sorry. I'm sorry, I don't... I don't know what happened, I don't know what came over me. I'm sorry." he repeated. She knew he hadn't meant to.

"It's fine, Sherlock. It's nothing; it's only small."

"But I hurt you. I shouldn't have."

"It's fine, Sherlock."

Later on, Sherlock sat himself down opposite Irene in the living room. "Irene, I... I have to tell you something." he placed his hands in prayer position as he spoke to her.

"What is it?" she looked to him and listened carefully. She had no idea what to expect.

"What I did is unforgivable. And I am very, very sorry." he sighed.

"Sherlock-"

"No, Irene. I am sorry." he looked down from her. "I just... I just don't know what's wrong with me." he began shaking his head. "I'm not the same man as I used to be. I can't sleep. I keep thinking about everything that happened when I was undercover. It's all beginning to get too much for me..." he paused for a moment as he gulped away tears. He spoke shakily and his hands trembled. Irene tried to stop him, but he felt he had to tell her something. He owed her an explanation. "I came back thinking I could live normally again. But I... I can't, it seems. I have tried, but it all just keeps flooding back. It's all coming back. That's why I went out last night. That's why I went back to drugs. That's why I hurt you. I... I felt unsafe and... and..." Sherlock could no longer speak as he cried. Irene knelt down in front of him and stroked his hair, and then she hushed him. Her hand trailed down his face as he lifted it up to look at her and she calmed him down.

"Sherlock, I know that this is the last thing that you want to hear right now, but... but I think you have to see someone. You need to speak to someone and tell them what happened."

"Irene, no, please..."

"Sherlock-"

"Let me sort this out myself. Give me a chance to deal with it alone; I can't speak to anyone... I don't want to..."

"But what if it happens again? What if you turn back to drugs even more?"

"I swear... I won't. I won't, Irene. Just let me figure this out... alone."

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	8. Chapter 8

"Irene, I'm just going to Scotland Yard." Sherlock shouted to the kitchen as he grabbed his coat. Irene came rushing out and stared at him. He knew what she was worried about. "And I really am going on a case this time." she sighed.

"How do I know?"

"Honestly, you can call John or Lestrade if you're worried."

"Sherlock... do you really think it's wise to be working? The state you're in... it's just not the best idea right now."

"Irene, it's the only thing that can take my mind off... off..." he sighed and shook his head. "I just need to keep myself busy, and then my mind will be busy.

"But then you're just running away; the memories are going to keep coming back, Sherlock!"

"Irene!" Sherlock shouted. He realised he had startled her as she jumped when he spoke. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry... I just, I need to go." he quickly hurried out. Irene sighed as she quivered a little, and then she took deep breaths in and out.

Irene called John just to make sure Sherlock was actually going on a case with them, and she had tried to tell him to just bring Sherlock home. However, John couldn't really persuade Sherlock to leave either. "I can try, but this is Sherlock we're talking about. And with the way he has been acting recently I don't think he's going to be listening to anyone. Maybe we should just let him do this; let him try and solve a case to keep himself occupied."

"But he needs to speak to someone."

"We both know that's not going to happen, Irene. Let's just see how he copes with this. I've told Lestrade to keep an eye on him, as will I, and if anything goes wrong I'll tell you." Irene just nodded and then hung up. She was so angry that Sherlock just ran away. There's only so far you can run until the past catches up with you.

Lestrade, John and Sherlock arrived at the crime scene. Sherlock had seemed alright on the way there, yet Lestrade was still weary of giving him the case. He still wasn't sure Sherlock was in the right state to be doing this. Unfortunately, he had no other choice; he needed the help on the case, and Sherlock had insisted to be there. What was he to do? He escorted Sherlock in and showed him to the corpse.

The room was so cold and filled with dust. The man lay against the wall with blood coming from his abdomen. His right arm was lay above his head, and his legs were close together. Sherlock stopped for a moment as he looked at the man's body. He was a bit struck as he hadn't done this in such a long time; he wasn't used to it. However, he wanted to be. He wanted everything to be back to normal. So, he pulled himself together. "Sherlock, you don't have to do this you know?" John whispered to him before he walked over to the body. Sherlock ignored him and pushed past him. He knelt down by the side of it and began to inspect it.

At first, Sherlock was doing well. He had a few ideas, and was back to normal. However, it didn't last long. He stared at a tattoo that the dead man had on his ankle. He continued to stare and his mind began playing tricks on him. It wasn't the same that he had seen recently, but he believed it to be. That's what his mind saw it as. Then, he began to look at the body, which transformed to one of the men he knew. One of the unfortunate ones. He didn't understand; how could he be there? He tried to get back to the present, he tried to tell himself it wasn't him. He knew it wasn't. Unfortunately, he began to believe himself less and less. He began to fall for the trick; for the mind games. He stood up quickly and blinked over and over. Lestrade could see he was uncomfortable and upset in some way, so he pushed him away from the body. "Sherlock, I think it's best if you went for some fresh air." he spoke calmly, backing Sherlock away. Sherlock then turned to Lestrade and realised what was really going on. He then turned to John, who had a stern look.

"I... I'm fine I just need to finish-"

"Sherlock, just get some air." Lestrade didn't take no for an answer. Sherlock was clearly unstable. Lestrade watched as Sherlock slowly left the room eventually. He ran outside and into his car.

"I'd better check on him," John said as he began to leave.

"John, maybe we should just give him some space for a bit?" Lestrade stopped him. "He needs to just get himself together."

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	9. Chapter 9

Sherlock slammed the car door behind him as he got in. He was so frustrated by what he had done. By his silly mistake. He slammed his hands onto the wheel and continued to do so, each time screaming louder and louder at himself. "How could I be so stupid?!" he repeated over and over, becoming more and more angry. Eventually he got tired and pathetically hit it, realising it was over. He began to cry and he rested his head slowly onto the wheel, trying to avoid the horn. He kicked the car as he cried ferociously. "How... how could this happen?" he whispered to himself.

He had to get himself out of there. He had to go anywhere but there. He needed to get away. He quickly put the keys in and pressed the accelerator hard. He drove out onto the main road and just drove straight ahead. John ran out as he had noticed Sherlock leaving in the car, and then shouted to Lestrade. "Lestrade, he's just... he's just gone!"

"Get after him!" Lestrade came out. "God knows where he's going!" both he and John were still scared by what had happened the night before, and they were worried he might be at it again. It wouldn't be such a huge surprise.

John and Lestrade got into a police car as fast as they could and tried to keep up with Sherlock. Unfortunately, they lost him as they had taken a wrong turn somewhere. John continuously tried to call him, but he wouldn't answer. He called Irene to tell her what was going on, which made her panic even more and she tried to call him. "We'll just go to the flat, and we'll try and figure out where he would go." John said to Lestrade as they drove towards 221B.

They arrived and found Irene pacing up and down the living room in fear. John straight away held her to comfort her. "Where could he be? What if he's doing them again?" she asked so many questions. John hushed her eventually and managed to sit her down. He made her a cup of tea and calmed her down while Lestrade called Mycroft and others to see if they had any idea where Sherlock may be. Obviously they were going to try his boltholes first.

Whilst on their way to the third one, John received a call from Irene. "Irene? Is there any news?"

"Molly just called," she spoke quickly. "she said he's at Bart's."

"Bart's? Why would he be at..." his words slowly faded as he realised what Sherlock might be doing, or what he was about to do. Lestrade stared at him as his words trailed off and he hung up the phone.

"What is it? What's the news?"

"He's... he's at Bart's." John looked up to him. Lestrade realised why John was so stunned by the news, as he felt the same.

"But... why would he be there?" John just stared at him as if he already knew the answer. "We'd better go." Lestrade put his foot down and rushed as fast as he possibly could to St Bart's. John continued to try and call the consulting detective, but still failed miserably.

Molly was waiting outside for them when they arrived. "I saw him go in there, I don't know where abouts though." she spoke nervously. John rushed in, and Lestrade thanked her. "Is everything alright with him?" Lestrade sighed and began to tell her everything as John searched every room, hoping he'd find Sherlock in one of them than where he thought he would be. Unfortunately, the world was not on his side. Sherlock wasn't to be found in any of them. Any of the labs. Nowhere. He sighed and paused for a moment. He couldn't be on the roof. He couldn't possibly be trying to end it. Why would he? Why? Why was he acting so drastically? John shook his head, pulled himself together and coughed a little. He realised he had no time to try and answer the questions, as he had to go and rescue his friend before it was too late.

John made it onto the roof. He stumbled up and looked around. Where was Sherlock? He walked forwards and looked around, over the edges. Then, he turned to the front of the small compartment on the roof to find Sherlock sat with his hands in prayer position and his eyes closed. He could see him breathing in deeply and then exhaling just as deeply. He sighed with relief and rushed over. He then reached his hand out and tried to grab Sherlock. Big mistake. Sherlock didn't realise who it was. He grabbed John and pushed him away. Not too much so he fell near the edge, but he pushed him to the floor. John hurt himself a bit, but got himself up alright. "Sherlock, it's me. John." Sherlock had jumped up and put his arms out to stop John getting any closer.

"Stay away from me!"

"It's John. Your friend, John." John said calmly as he slowly approached him.

"Please, don't come any closer!"

"Okay, okay." he stopped. "I'll stay right here. Don't worry. I'm just here to help."

"Stay... stay away."

"Alright, Sherlock. It's alright." John sighed as he stood still. "Don't worry." Sherlock stared and examined him.

"J... John?"

"It's me, Sherlock." he then began to approach his friend again. "It's alright, it's me." Sherlock let him approach.

"John... John, I'm sorry."

"No, no," he shook his head. "It's alright. I understand. Now, what were you doing here?" he asked as he looked around. Sherlock didn't respond. "Please don't tell me you were going to-"

"No, no." Sherlock quickly interrupted him. "Well, I thought... I thought about it. But no. I just came for some air." John nodded his head and smiled with relief. "I don't know what's happening any more, John." Sherlock choked on tears. "I want to be how I used to be. I want to solve cases. I want to be who I _used _to be."

"And you will be, Sherlock."

"But will I?!" Sherlock shouted. "I can't do anything without the memories haunting me! I can't do anything any more! I keep hurting people, I keep running away from cases! I just... I'm just not how I used to be."

"Sherlock," John sat himself down and then made Sherlock sit beside him. "You will be normal again, I swear. You just need to tell someone what happened." Sherlock sighed. "Don't be like that! How do you expect to get rid of your demons if you don't face them?! You need to tell somebody what happened so they can help you defeat them." Sherlock looked to his friend. He knew he was right. He knew he had to say something to somebody.

"It... it was horrific." John and Sherlock had been sat on the roof for an hour or so now. John had called everyone to tell them he had found Sherlock and everything was alright, so they just sat trying to forget everything. They had been sat in almost complete silence as they tried to relax. But suddenly, Sherlock decided it was time. Time to say something. John looked up to him.

"What?"

"The mission. Well, it wasn't really the mission." John seemed confused. "I was captured... I was kept a hostage and treated... treated..." he paused for a moment. John sat patiently patting his friend, making sure he didn't rush. "Others, lots of others, had also been taken. Forced to do horrendous work. And, if they didn't, they were... they were beaten up. If they couldn't complete something, they were beaten up. If they asked for food, they were..."

"Beaten up." John sighed.

"It was awful. Watching people suffer. All of them. The terror in their eyes. Their screams as they fell to the floor and begged to be left. Some of them were hurt so badly they were left for death. I... I was lucky to be found. But... but I saw them all dying. Saw them as they collapsed because of too much work."

"I... I'm so sorry." John sighed. "How badly did they hurt you?" Sherlock didn't speak. "Sherlock?" Sherlock showed him his back where there were a few scars and several bruises, which was almost the same as his stomach. "Jesus..." he whispered to himself. "I'm so, so sorry, Sherlock." he shook his head as Sherlock covered it back up.

"I just can't get it out of my head, John." as Sherlock spoke, his speed became faster. "Their screaming and their... their pleas. The innocent being beaten up by people twice their strength. I couldn't stop... stop it. I couldn't do anything. I wanted to help. I wanted to... wanted to..." John could see him becoming more and more shaken by this, so he stopped him.

"Sherlock, it's alright. You can stop now." he spoke softly. "You can stop."

John eventually took Sherlock back home where he was greeted by Irene who hugged him tightly when he walked in. "It's good to see you safe!" she kissed him. Sherlock smiled to her, and then sat himself down. John told her everything Sherlock had said, and then agreed that they had better tell Mycroft who would be able to get a therapist involved.

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	10. Chapter 10

Bang. Sherlock opened his eyes. He looked in front of him to see Irene sat on the floor, cowering with her hands over head shaking. Then, he looked to the right of her to see a hole in the wall. Finally, he looked to his hand. The gun. He realised what he had done and then he began to quiver himself. He threw the gun out of his hand and stared to Irene. He was frozen because of the shock and the realisation that he had done this. He had shot at his own wife and he was unaware of doing it. He got out of bed a went towards her, but she moved away when he tried to apologise. She knew it wasn't his fault. She knew he hadn't meant to. However, she was still terrified. She realised he didn't know what he was capable of. She knew that he had changed into something far worse than she had originally thought. Sherlock once again tried to comfort her and apologise, but she moved away. He then stood up and realised there was no way she would trust him again. "I... Irene. Please, I didn't... I didn't..." he couldn't speak. Neither could she. She still sat shaking. "What... what can I... what do I do?"

"Sherlock... Sherlock please... please just go... please just..." she could barely catch her breath as she trembled. Sherlock left the room when he realised he had done enough. He went into the living room and called John straight away.

"Sherlock? Sherlock what is it?" even though it was only four in the morning, John knew it was an emergency due to recent events.

"John... John I don't know... I don't know what happened, I... I..." Sherlock struggled to speak and couldn't get his words together.

"Calm down, where are you?"

"At the... the flat."

"I'm on my way." John told Mary he had to hurry, and then he left to 221B Baker Street in his car.

Sherlock waited by the window and then saw John approaching. He rushed to open the door and let John in. "Sherlock, is everything alright?" he asked as he looked around the living room in worry. "Where's Irene?" he turned to Sherlock. He could see by Sherlock's expression something had gone wrong. Something had happened. Something terrible. "What happened, Sherlock?"

"I don't know... I don't know how it happened, I just... I just..." Sherlock moved his hands around, trying to explain.

"Sherlock. What happened?" John spoke calmly, trying to get Sherlock to do the same.

"I shot at... at her." he spoke, and as he did he began to tear up. John seemed confused at first, then he thought Sherlock was joking. He didn't believe for a second that Sherlock Holmes had shot his own wife. Even with the way he had been acting. But Sherlock's face said it all. John stared at him, waiting for him to say "joke" or something to fool him. But it never happened. Sherlock was serious.

"Bloody hell." John whispered. "B... bloody hell, Sherlock! Bloody hell! Where is she? Sherlock, where is she?!" John shouted frantically.

"She's in... in the bedroom." John didn't say another word, he just ran into Sherlock's room and found Irene exactly how Sherlock had left her. He quickly knelt beside her and comforted her.

"Irene, it's alright. It's alright, everything's fine." he said calmly and quietly, holding her so she would calm down. She sat crying in his arms. "Don't worry, it's all over."

"It... it wasn't... it wasn't his fault." she sniffled. John nodded.

"I know, I know."

John had managed to sit Irene down in her bed and get her a cup of tea to calm her down. She was still in terrible shock and she shivered slightly, so John covered her with the blanket. "You should probably get some rest after that," John smiled to her. "Call me if you need anything."

"Thanks... thank you." she nodded to him as he left the room. He went into the living room to find Sherlock sat waiting anxiously for news. He jumped up when he saw John coming in and asked him what had happened.

"She's alright for now, she's calming down."

"Can I see her?"

"Sherlock, I really don't think that's wise right now." John sighed as he sat Sherlock back down. "I've called Mary, she said she's going to pick her up and she's going to be staying with us for a while, until you get yourself together." Sherlock looked at his friend desperately. He knew it was probably the best thing to do, but he didn't want to be isolated; he needed people with him. He needed help. "I can stay with you for a couple of days," John sat down opposite Sherlock. "But on the condition that you get help. Proper help from a therapist." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Don't do that! Don't act like that! You need help, Sherlock. Don't say you don't. Don't say you can deal with this alone. Because it's not true; you can't and you know you can't. You just don't want to admit that you need help." Sherlock sat speechless and then slowly began to cry. "It's alright."

"I... I didn't mean to shoot... I didn't mean..." he choked. John comforted him as much as he could.

"I know, Sherlock. And so does she. She knows you're not yourself, and she knows that you're going to get better and you won't hurt her. But she also knows that you need help. Do it for her." Sherlock sniffled.

"What if... what if they can't... help me?" he looked up to John.

"Mycroft's already looking for someone. Honestly, he'll know who can help you. I swear to you this will work."

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